The Conspiracy
by Mea1
Summary: Chapter 8 is here and Frodo Gets The Girl! PG-13 for some descriptive suffering in chapter four.
1. Arriving For Tea and Dinner

These characters are not my own, they belong to JRR Tolkien.

The pony ride to Hobbiton had not been as long as expected, at least not by Merry Brandybuck who was excited at no end to visit cousins and dear friends, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins. Riding in front of him, his father, Saradoc, routinely hollered back to keep up. September was just opening and the colored leaves were falling right on cue. The sun shone more golden through the canopy of autumn foliage and the winds swirled the summer breezes with the crisp of cooler temperatures abound. Autumn, Merry declared, was indeed the best season, but then added summer and spring to his "favorites" list. Saradoc shook his head at the scattered logic paying more mind to the path ahead while his son, with his head in the trees, wandered in the direction his pony wanted to go, mainly towards tasty shrubs. More than four times did Merry redirect 'Lily Blossom' back on their course. 

The fading of the bright season into the falling season translated into more visits from Saradoc an administrator for the Master of Buckland to Hobbiton and Michel Delving. Business visits that is, concerning trades, hobbit relations and other issues upon the Master's agenda. Merry tagged along as often as his father would allow, staying with his cousins while Saradoc continued on to Michel Delving to meet the mayor and others sorts, then on the pass through back retrieved his only child.

At last they arrived at the smial under the Hill greeted by cheerful Frodo Baggins and hurried inside by the mention of the tea getting cold. Frodo collected their outer coats and hats, hanging them properly on the hooks adjacent to the front door. Their night bags he placed neatly in the hall leading to their rooms. "We won't wait for Bilbo any longer," Frodo said escorting them to the kitchen. "I have been patient long enough to have tea and my stomach is paying the price. I'm glad you arrived at the time you did, the old hobbit can't be angry with me with company visiting," he ended in a smile.

They sat down to a well-dressed table and at the head of it, an empty place setting obviously awaiting Bilbo's return. The generous host offered the finest cheese and bread newly baked that morning. Piled a top a small dish was a mound of sweet cookies, perfect for soaking in the bitter tea. Dipping although not proper tea etiquette, was most enjoyed by Bilbo and his adopted nephew who displayed no qualms in its practice no matter the guest present. Nonetheless, both Brandybuck's were quite used to the routine and joined in the habit only when visiting the Bagginses, of course. 

"Where is Bilbo?" Saradoc asked after taking a long sip of tea. "Off on an adventure?" He joked lightly.

"Bilbo is capable of nothing less than adventure," replied Frodo. "Where he's gone to is a mystery. Off since lunch, shouting away at me from a distance when I ran out the door to ask where he is going." 

Five minutes in to their discussion had not yet passed when Frodo suddenly realized Merry chewing on the last of his cookies and toast washing it down with a hurried gulp of tea. "Merry, this isn't a race." Frodo chortled, "though if it was you can declare yourself a winner." 

"You can't imagine how much I can eat, Frodo." The back of his sleeve made nice for a napkin. Saradoc glared him a warning. "My father says and our household will hardly keep stock for winter with my fierce appetite." 

"As I see," Frodo said laughing. "Bilbo's lateness will be his downfall this tea time. I will let you have his share. As long as you chew and not inhale it," he said serving Merry an extra helping of each item.

Just then a clamor came in the door. It was Bilbo, excitedly removing his coat but being careful in handling some loose papers and his Book. With a rushed wave and pleasant apologies he disappeared to a side room but his voice echoed as he continued talking and soon emerged walking in to the kitchen, no book in hand. "Again, again, I must express by deepest apologies to my fine guests. Time slips away faster then I realize it's gone and then I am late. In the hands of good Frodo you've been received. The best decision I ever made was to bring this lad to Bag End to stay with me," Bilbo placed both hands on his nephew's broadening shoulders. 

He came round the table to shake the hand of Saradoc who greeted him standing up. They spoke the usual pleasantries ending always in a chuckle and a sigh. Merry playfully pestered Bilbo missing a better part of afternoon tea as he was taking the last bite and sip. "Nonsense, my lad, there is more from where that came from!" Bilbo flapped both his hands at him. "On that queer evening when thirteen dwarves came knocking at my door I have since kept my pantry and cupboards in great supply on the chance of a repeating occasion."

Merry's eyes widened as large as his stomach. "That will hardly feed my son for supper!" Bolted Saradoc catching a glimpse of Merry's excitement at the potential to eat the food stores Bilbo was so quick to boast.

Afternoon tea settled as the last of the sun disappeared calling out to light the lamps in Bilbo's home. The four of them finished another plate of cookies and a kettle of tea for dipping and on went the conversations. As they cleaned up they made ready for dinner, replacing teacups and saucers for bowls, plates and mugs. 

"You are our guests, Master Brandybucks. Make yourselves comfortable and leave us the work." Bilbo shooed them away fanning the back of his hands.

Saradoc and Merry nodded kindly and found their way to their rooms, unpacking what they needed from their bags. In front of the hearth they both retreated, keeping warm, taking their bit of rest in silence. Merry snorted and discovered he fell asleep as his father roused him lightly. The finished stew seeped from the kitchen and Merry watched Bilbo filling the bowls from where he sat. Frodo was slicing the browned hens and arranging the pieces on plates next to a healthy serving of mixed vegetables. Convinced all the sights were not a dream, Merry threw off his blanket and rushed to the tableside. As he sat, a tall mug of ale welcomed him and he thanked Bilbo for the generous servings.

"Bilbo," Frodo suddenly remembered, "where were you today that caused you to be late?"

After swallowing down his chewed meat he answered, "I had some personal business to tend to, a chief reason why Master Brandybuck came this way. Tomorrow we will leave for Michel Delving but I will return the same day." It was obvious Bilbo wanted not to discuss the meaning of his business so Frodo left it at that. Bilbo continued however, slightly off subject, "I will tell you _why_ I was late: the confounded Sackville-Bagginses!"

The guests gave a laugh at the undertone of disgust whenever Bilbo mentioned that name, reserved exclusively for Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins. "I'll not subject you to the harshness and little mindedness the S-B's are infamous for. I'll leave it at this: that Lobelia could talk a pig out of eating if she had her mind to it. A hobbit needs iron stakes driven through his feet to stand up to her." Bilbo said pointing his fork to emphasize his point. "It's best to avoid them all together." In unison the whole table agreed.

Talk weaved from the S-B's to other Shire folk, to the latest news from Brandyhall and the happenings in Tuckborough as reported by Paladin to Saradoc in a meeting not a while back. Dinner spent the usual length topping off with a smoke on the front porch. Cleaning up Frodo remained inside whistling as Bilbo taught him, sometimes humming verses from supper songs and bed songs. The smoke talk dwindled to drier topics and Merry, finding himself quite bored of governing affairs, retreated inside to make more interesting conversation with a hobbit closer to his age.

"Ah, the youth," Bilbo squeezed his cheeks as he inhaled, "to have no worries except to wonder what there is next to eat."

Saradoc grinned unpleasantly, "He has little cares, it is true. And the trouble he finds himself in. Esmeralda and I can't imagine having another one of him. Not proper foundations for a Buckland Master."

Shaking the seriousness from the turn their conversation headed, Bilbo spat out a laugh, "Saradoc, my good hobbit, you are far too removed from your 'in between' years to remember your _own_ antics at his age." 

Slightly perturbed at the comment, Saradoc frowned as Bilbo rolled on in hysterics, rocking to and fro, slapping at his knees. 

"You have grown into a fine Master candidate despite your misbehaviors. No prouder can your father be!" Bilbo relaxed from the laughter and spoke right into the eyes of his good friend. "**_The best is in age_**, my father would say about fine wines and so I say about young Merry. He will come into his own and you'll beaming with glorious pride." He said in exacting confidence.

"You feel the same about Frodo, don't you?" 

"Yes, yes, I do. He is dearest to my heart like no other." Another puff of smoke and a grand smile reached across his face.

"And you intend to leave him all of Bag End?" Saradoc asked knowing the answer. 

Bilbo nodded accordingly, "The arrangements are close to official. I picked up another bottle of red ink in town today and I'm shy only two more signatures, yours and old Will Whitfoot's. Tomorrow in Michel Delving, I'll have all required seven signatures in red ink and Bag End will forever be safe from those Sackville-Bagginses."

"They know of your plan then, to name Frodo your sole heir?" He turned to Bilbo hoping he could discuss about the S-B's encounter he cleverly evaded during dinner.

"No, no one but for the seven hands that left their mark on my will. Not even Frodo knows the lot of it. News in the Shire spreads like it has wings to fly from farthing to farthing." Bilbo released in a scowl. "After I purchased the ink I stopped to pick up my letters at the post-office. I stepped outside and a sudden burst of inspiration struck me and I sought out a lonely tree to rest against so I may jot some notes. How long I sat and wrote I can't quite remember, but I would have arrived in time for tea if the shrill calling of Lobelia hadn't halted me. 

"We talked," Bilbo stopped himself then held up his palm shaking his head, "**_she_** talked for what seemed like an age. Otho and Lobelia, fresh from hearing news of my red ink at the post-office, raced down my path to search me out. The length of time was spent reminding me of my obligations to closer family relations and then reciting the items believed rightly belonging to them when I pass."

The bursting laugh could no longer contain itself--Saradoc had it out. Indeed he felt very sorry for Bilbo and suitably, with all other hobbits he would be furious at such uncouth remarks, but being as they were the Sackville-Bagginses, the pretentious demands were sadly expected yet comical.

With two plates in hand, Frodo appeared and fronted dessert to the pipe smokers outside. "I attempted my first quince and crab apple tart. It's split in two for the both of you to share." They happily took the plates on to their laps and thanked the young hobbit as he hurriedly turned to walk away.

Staring at his half tart, Bilbo asked confused, "Frodo? We bake tarts in fours. There should be enough to have a whole for each hobbit." 

Refusing to face them he quickly muttered, "Merry had two and I had one." 

Just as Frodo was about to close the door, the faint voice of Merry escaped, "Liar!" he called out, "we each had one and a half. It was Frodo's idea--" 

Slam! went the door.


	2. Lotho

These characters are not my own, they belong to JRR Tolkien.

His eyes fluttered open then winced as the membranes fell back into their sockets, shutting the lids to block the light. Reluctantly, he commanded the body to roll on its side and right off the bed he landed on his knees while his eyes remained closed. The remaining members of his body checked in sturdy and strong as he rose to his feet. It was inside of the brain, the balance nerve center, where the pain originated. Carrying his head in his hands and barely able to keep it straight up over his shoulders, Merry shuffled following the voices meandering through the hallways. He managed quite successfully to bump his way along and in to the kitchen. 

Hardly any notice was given to Merry's sickened state when he entered. Frodo was prepping ingredients on a space near the sink unaware of his cousin's presence. And finishing the last of their eats, Bilbo and Saradoc called off the day's events in store for them upon arrival in Michel Delving, however, the will was not at all mentioned. As Merry took his seat, the two older hobbits rose up and headed to the parlor, taking count of the items to bring on their short journey. 

"Frodo," Bilbo called to his nephew from the coat hooks, "Master Saradoc is slated to stay another day or two, but I will return in plenty of spare time for supper this evening. Should I run late feed Merry and yourself straight away," he instructed, buttoning the last hole of his waist coat.

Frodo appeared in his view popping his head out from behind the kitchen barrier, finally noticing Merry's figure. "Oh, don't worry. You can be certain we will start without you even if you were one minute behind schedule," he joked.

"Then I only worry you won't save me a crumb!" Bilbo retorted with a smirk.

"Merry… Merry? Merry!" His father repeated in succeeding tones. Half awake though truly mostly asleep, the young hobbit stirred at the loudest holler of his name. His neck unable to function a turn he shifted his body length in the seat and supported his cheek with one hand. Saradoc provided him only one word, "Behave," he said as if pleading. 

A click sounded as the door shut behind the two. Their muffled voices continued in their list checking, calling out an article and the other responding, **_check!_**

Frodo skillfully cracked the eggs with one hand, dropping them in to the perfect the sunny-side-up shape. As a wall was separating he and Merry, he spoke over his shoulder, "After our breakfasts what would you like to do first? Keep in mind, I must go to town today." 

A loud bang replied. The mounting weight in Merry's head dropped it to the table. Subtly alarmed, Frodo's head glanced over his shoulder, his lips pressed in a 'mmmm…' as he leaned backward to look beyond the divider. He discovered Merry slouched forward on to the table, snoring into the crook of his arm. 

Needless to say, Frodo ate breakfast alone, following it with a light snack. He tidied up the kitchen and parlor; sweeping the hearth and discarding the soot appropriately outside near the back tunnel. With the cleaning chores completed he rewarded himself by polishing off several chapters in his book of the moment, as he was an avid reader by his uncle's design. Bilbo's sure stock of fresh materials were piled in the study; should both hobbits find themselves snowed in at Bag End there were more than plenty to last for an age. 

The clock struck eleven when Frodo's eyes strained from reading. Merry was still unmoved from the table, lightly purring as he breathed. **_Odd_**, Frodo thought of his late sleep. The time came again to prepare for the next meal and he wondered what to fix for lunch. Into the pantry and cellar he ventured to attain culinary inspiration. The survey in the cellar came up two bottles short of ale. A puzzled frown came to Frodo's lips. He pondered the images clearly: from the **_Green Dragon Inn_** Bilbo returned with him eight bottles of their brew to be enjoyed when the Buckland guests arrived. Four we used to toast dinner last night. This morning the difference is only two. I wonder where the other two could be? 

That's when it hit him: "Merry, you fiend," he declared speaking aloud as if solving some great mystery. 

***

After finishing his lunch it took a great deal of strength to heave Merry off the bench seat and on to the lofty chair near the fireplace. Merry hadn't acquired full height but he must put the food somewhere to be this heavy, Frodo thought struggling to move him. Merry appeared more comfortable snuggling within the folds of woven a blanket rather than twisted upon the wooden seat. Frodo sighed and opted now to do more chores while Merry slept off the ale.

Outside the back tunnel Frodo grabbed a lidded basket and trotted round the smial to the road winding down to the gate, then turned down the hillside heading into Hobbiton for dealing. Packed half-full was the last of their backyard summer apples, carefully collected by Samwise Gamgee who tended the Baggins' gardens. Preoccupied with what to have for dinner Frodo wandered to the butcher's market where he negotiated a smaller price for the fresh meat with his apples. The post-office had no letters for Baggins when he checked in and at the bakery the bakers shook their heads 'no' when asked if any bread was still available. So up the rise of the Hill to Bag End he retreated. 

At the foot of it were the Gamgee's, Hamfast and Samwise. Sam held steady a wheelbarrow in which Hamfast (better known as the Gaffer), was shoveling in to it.

"A fine day to you, Mr. Gaffer, and to you, Sam." Frodo tipped his head. Suddenly a foul smell hit him like flat board to his nose. He realized in the nick of time that droppings from the Brandybuck's ponies were piled in his footpath. Halting immediately he avoided a true catastrophe. Trying to remain polite and equally trying hard to hide that the smell offended him, he breathed in shallow breaths to filter out the odor. 

Unknowingly adding to Frodo's discomfort on many levels the Gaffer discussed the topic of what he shoveled. "It may not look it, but this dung heap is all but magic to plants and grasses and vegetables, too!" Frodo held his breath and didn't allow the thought that this stuff may be used on vegetables they would be eating. "All's we need is addin' some straw and fallen leaves to mix it all up. Gives it a thicker feel, it does, and better to manage in spreading 'round gardens. Less sticky, if you can follow me." 

"Fascinating," Frodo managed to say genuinely. 

The old Gaffer placed both hands on his back and arched himself to stretch out, a creak or two sounded from the motion. "Dad," Sam said, "go up and rest. I can finish then haul the barrow up."

"Awe, you're a good son, you are. Always lookin' out for others at the expense of yourself. Well, I won't take to arguing with you especially if I make good out if it," he chuckled. The Gaffer stuck the spade into the dirt and stepped a foot on it to secure it upright. He said a farewell to Frodo and passed a proud look to his son.

Frodo, who had now been standing next to the pile for some time, was no longer bothered by the smell, it was still there of course, but his nose had acclimated and he returned to breathing normally. Their small talk was shortly interrupted as closer to them came the **_clip clop_** sounds of a pony. Before turning to see who approached, a loud obnoxious voice yakked at them: 

**__**

Diggers and scoopers is all you be, 

__

Bending to the dirt so dreadfully

Uncovering treasures not hard to find

Falling from a horse behind!

"Lotho Sackville-Baggins! Good heavens above! Act your age, you're older than I." Frodo cried angrily. It was the infamous son of Otho and Lobelia, a chip off the old pig-headed blocks.

"Act **_your_** place, Frodo Baggins. Indeed! To befriend the odd fellows and the low fellows of Bagshot Row while they wallow in manure." He said with his nose way up high in the air. "You give Baggins a tainted name. You and Bilbo are--". 

But he was cut short. Sam prevented him from ending the sentence, he was sure it would end with something nasty, thus inspiring him to do what he did. With an off swing of his shovel a sling of manure splattered on Lotho's face getting into his eyes, a little in between his lips, Sam even accomplished perfect trajectory to enter some of the matter up his snobby flat nose. 

Frodo's mouth gaped in utter shock at the sight, standing dumbfounded in silence. As the fading cry galloped away, Frodo turned to Sam who was already snickering. At eye contact both of them bellowed and grabbed in their stomachs. The muscles holding in their torsos tightened, aching from their asudden, intense use. Frodo utter though nearly unable to annunciate, "Finally, a meal to match his words!" The laughs lengthened hysterically and eventually they induced no sound except for the much needed gasps of air. 

It was quite a length before they could maintain their uncontrolled giggles and regain audible speech. But when order was restored and their laughing tears wiped away, Sam sincerely he looked at Frodo and gallantly said, "My old Gaffer repeats to all that you and Master Bilbo are right folk and I agree he's right by all accounts. And I'll let no one put out a mean word about you or the Master. They don't know nothing of what they say." 

"Sam, I hold your opinion of me highly. Just don't go getting yourself in trouble. My thanks to you." Frodo reached out to pat Sam's shoulder and smiled humbly. Stepping over the dung heap he whistled a tune on his lips and returned up the Hill to his home.


	3. Dear'Ole Frodo

The steaming bowl filled with chopped carrots and potatoes didn't look as appetizing as it may have before. Merry set it on the middle of the dining table and backing away his look of repulse remained unchanged. "Food pulled from the dirt can never taste the same again," he said returning Frodo's side in the kitchen. "Each time I nibble a carrot root I think I shall taste… " He paused unable to say what he intended.

"Carrots, potatoes, and yes, our beloved mushrooms, have all been cultivated with manure for ages. My reaction was the same when the Gaffer first said it. But I have been thoughtful about it and you know, we didn't taste anything **_unusual_** yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. " Frodo glanced hard to lean his point. "Here," he passed a small bowl of minced onions to his helper. "Toss these in the cauldron."

At first whiff Merry slighted his nose evading the onion fumes and quickly threw them into the simmering pot. "Still," he continued placing the bowl in the sink, "ignorance **_was_** bliss. It maybe all in my mind but I can never again eat a rooted vegetable without thoroughly washing it first." 

"That is a very wise decision," responded Frodo in an agreeable chuckle. "I might suggest a sturdy-bristled brush to boot," he said over his shoulder while plating the main course. Finishing the presentation, he surrounded the meatloaf with a wall of cubed potatoes and dusted the whole with salt and pepper.

"Do you supposed that's what Lotho used to clean out his mouth?" Merry grinned while stirring a wooden spoon in the soup.

"If he didn't, I wish he would." Frodo snorted as he lifted the main course. 

Proudly, Frodo carried his recipe to the dining table and as Merry looked on he grew quite eager to eat it. Then suddenly and unexpectedly, it fell to the floor with a dull thud, rolled twice over and crumbled in half. The squared potatoes scattered everywhere. Merry hovered over the pieces sorrowfully, speechless. Frodo sighed a curse to his fumbling hands and a mean growl turned in his stomach, he could've sworn it called him a nasty name.

***

The soup was still uninjured, so were the steaming bowl of carrots and potatoes. Eggs were prepared in replacement of the missing course. However, a decent-sized piece of meatloaf was salvaged, it's skin, dirty from rolling on the floor, was shaved off and thrown away with the other infected bits. The meatloaf resembled more a meat pile, no longer able to hold it's structure now removed from its outer layer. Wasting food ranked high among hobbit taboos and they avoided committing the sin with the only exception of engaging in another that proved far worse or ill. 

At the beginning of the first serving Bilbo and unexpectedly, Saradoc, arrived from their day trip. Bilbo apologized again for running late disappeared in to his study to rest his satchel, then quickly reappeared. "I'm surprised you are just now beginning dinner," Bilbo said making his way across the parlor. "Though I'm quite relieved, my share of dinner is intact."

As Saradoc placed himself next to his son, the Master of the house sprinted to his prized cellar and adjourned holding two bottles of the _Green Dragon _ale. "Oh my," he said, "Didn't I return with enough ale to quench four hobbits for two dinners?" He looked inquisitively at Frodo, wondering if his memory was disserving him. 

Merry froze in his seat; for a moment his appetite was lost. It was only his imagination, but he could already hear his father yelling and winced at the thought of it.

"The beer was calling out to us during lunch and Merry and I were obliged to accept it's enticing invitation," Frodo responded without looking up from his food. He wished he didn't have to lie but felt very sorry for Merry and had no misgivings in telling this little white one for his cousin's sake. Like many older hobbits who were parenting tweenagers, it was evident to Frodo that Saradoc's patience grew very thin. Likewise, any mistake Merry committed was amplified beyond repair.

Bilbo smiled again; his memory was still sharp. He volunteered halfing the bottles evenly but Frodo politely refused, "Let the long travelers enjoy full bottles. We've had enough for today." He secretly grinned and winked at Merry who received the signs appreciatively. 

At that moment, a disruptive, angry pounding startled them, for it nearly broke down the front door. All four looked up at each other in a confused daze. Suddenly, realizing his role, Bilbo threw down his napkin and left his seat. "Coming, just a moment… just a moment," he reluctantly hurried to the door and opened it wide.

"Good heavens, Lobelia, Lotho and why, it's Master Hamfast and Samwise. What do I owe this surprise visit?" he tried to sound cheerful. Lobelia's eyes foretold she was on the verge of an abominable rage.

"We are sorry for interruptin' yer fine meal, Master Baggins, but there seems to be a--" Hamfast began just as Lobelia stepped in front of him and cut him off.

"There was an uncalled for and disgusting prank set on my son today! And your Brandybuck boy played part in it!" She burst stomping her foot. Frodo was every bit a Baggins as he was a Brandybuck, however, Lobelia thought otherwise. Now beside his uncle Frodo stood, concerned and mildly irritated.

"Lobelia, please," Bilbo attempted to soften her and put her off for another time, "we have guests. May we discuss this first thing after breakfast on the morrow?"

Offended she stepped back with her mouth aghast, "We most certainly will not! Don't try to get rid of me, Bilbo Baggins. Guests or no, I will have my say so." She barged in pushing Bilbo and Frodo out of the way. Lotho was on her arm, looking pitiful and dejected. Sam and Hamfast awaited respectfully to be invited in.

"Lotho, Lobelia," Saradoc nodded as he passed them to retreat to his room. Merry cracked a smile following closely behind his father, terrified of the Sackville-Bagginses.

"I want to know what you will do to compensate me and Lotho for our troubles and my precious time for coming here in the dead of night," she demanded. Outside, through one of the round windows, Frodo caught glimpse of the last rays of sun slipping under the horizon and rolled his eyes, 'dead of night, indeed,' he thought.

Bilbo took a deep breath and closed his eyes momentarily before he began. "First of all, what happened?"

"Your fool boy and his gardener covered my son in horse manure, that's what!" She looked squarely at Frodo and drove her finger to his chest, "I knew you were nothing but trouble as soon as you arrived in Hobbiton. Running amuck in the crowded holes of those no-good Brandybuck relatives." It was no use reminding Lobelia the chief members of the Brandybuck clan were within earshot. She most certainly knew and hoped they heard every word.

Sam called out, "Mr. Frodo was by-standing, he'd no doing in it. And, Lotho wasn't covered, I only gave him a taste," he explained trying not to laugh but barely succeeded. The Gaffer threw his son a stern glance. Sam diminished and gulped a lump down his throat.

Lotho cried like a toddler backed in to a corner, "Frodo gave the order! Sam does everything the Bagginses tell him!" There was nothing more satisfying than throwing Frodo into the middle of trouble. Lotho enviously believed it only fair, as Frodo was Bilbo's favorite nephew. Though by lineage Lotho was rightfully set to inherit Bilbo's estate.

"Mr. Frodo did no such thing you lying sack of ---" Sam jumped at Lotho submitting him behind his mother's skirt. 

"Hush yourself, you gardener's boy!" Lobelia then turned to Hamfast, his eyes cast down to avoid fire that shot from her wicked stare; clearly he wanted to stay out of it. "I will make sure every well-to-do hobbit knows of your son's reckless antics unless this wrong is righted." 

Sick of her ranting, Frodo stepped forward, "Speaking in Sam's defense, he would never commit such a deed if it were not warranted." Lobelia's sting had no meaning or threat to him. Honestly no one in all of Hobbiton, well off or not, paid any mind to the S-B's opinions anyway. Frodo's only regret was not joining Sam in throwing more manure.

"What in all of the Shire warrants shoveling that mess in his face?" Lobelia placed her hands on her hips. She had a veritable point and it would stand if Lotho weren't an obnoxious Sackville-Baggins. 

"Insults and down lays was all he said if he said a word," said Frodo calmly.

"It isn't an insult if it's true!" Retorted Lobelia narrowing her eyes. "Good gracious! A well off Baggins friends with a common gardener," her glance moved to the Gamgee's, lifting her head so she may look down on them.

"Enough," Frodo said with a cold tone. Slowly, he moved to stand toe to toe with Lobelia and firmly planted his feet. 

Sam tugged his arm and he pleaded, "Mr. Frodo, don't ruin your good name on account of mine." 

At Sam's touch Frodo turned his profile to look at him. The waving light of the fire cast shadows on Frodo's face. He appeared older, fierce, but controlled. "Gamgee and gardener are good names, Sam. No one is going to ruin anything if I have a say so."

Sam's spine rose and he and his father stood very tall.

Frodo straightened his length and looked down at the crone. Unwaveringly he said in deepened voice, "Your son has no right to speak to me or my friends in a degrading manner. He has no call in who I shall make friends in and no reason to put himself above any hobbit. Lotho is lucky we did not dump the entire barrow over him, that is what he deserved."

Lobelia would not back down, although she wasn't one bit remorseful or scared she hadn't much to say in response. "Bilbo! Talk some hobbit sense into your boy," was all she could muster.

Aggressively but as gentle as he could, Bilbo lead Mistress Sackville-Baggins and her son, who was still latched on her arm, out the door, "I agree with Frodo whole-heartedly. Now I bid you a good night."

"Wait! I believe I need to be compensated--" she cried weighting her feet to stick the floor.

"Consider the bit of advice given as compensation for your time and for mine. Good night!" Bilbo said brightly and shut the door before he heard another word. "Stay with us awhile, won't you?" he asked of the Gaffer and Sam. "Trust me, you'd not want to share the road with scorned S-B's, especially if one of them is Lobelia."

"Aye," said the Gaffer as he followed Bilbo.

"Master Brandybuck, Merry," Frodo called in to the hallway, "It's safe to come out now."

Around the table sat the six hobbits recovering from the ordeal and hailing Frodo for his courage and deference. Eyes beaming with pride Bilbo hugged his nephew and said more kind words privately in to his ear. He retrieved more dinner plates and pantry items, sitting them before the Gamgee's. As Frodo retold the story giving every credit to Sam, Bilbo disappeared in to the cellar. Merry didn't at all mind hearing the tale a second go around it was as hilarious as the first. A popped cork called their attention momentarily and cheers emerged as Bilbo approached with glasses and a bottle of his father's famous wineyard. Generous volumes of the fragrant wine were poured for each.

Holding his head, Merry nauseously declined, "None for me, thanks."


	4. The Bywater Pool

The quiet, autumn sun rose over Hobbiton, piercing the low clouds and burning them off. The warm light entered through nooks in the window curtains, crept into their rooms, waking the inhabitants of Bag End. They rose early and after another large breakfast they traveled separate ways. Saradoc attended more business outlined as assigned by the Master of Buckland, visiting folk in Bywater. Upon clearing the kitchen (dishes and such were left for tending in the morning from the night before) Frodo and his young cousin Merry ventured on foot to Bywater to visit Fredegar Bolger, whose family rode in to for a short stay at the **_Green Dragon Inn_**. And finally, his home at peace, Bilbo shut the door to his study and secluded himself. 

The gables of the **_Green Dragon Inn_** peered over the rise as Frodo and Merry traveled up the hill. Each step taken revealed more details of the inn: the newly whitewashed siding crisp against the green-framed windows. In a few more strides it appeared whole, just as they remembered it, standing on the westering bend of Hobbiton Road. They could see Fredegar squatting on the steps of the inn looking rather miserable. 

"Come now, Fatty," Frodo now stood over him and poked is round belly. "You'll have a meal again soon," he chuckled.

"It's not that. Though by you mentioning it, I am hungry again." He shook his head and returned to the memory of his long face, "It's Essie," he pointed to the lass behind him. "Sorry. I'm on orders to bring her."

Insulted Merry protested flapping his arms about, "This afternoon is scheduled for careless roguery and mischief. Explain how we are to attend to that with a girl to look after."

"We can out run her in the forest?" Fredegar offered.

"Fatty!" Exclaimed Frodo. "Essie will just have to tag along. We're not going to leave her alone in the woodlands. Your father would string us up from our heels and leave us out to rot should any ill happen to her," Frodo advised. The young lass smiled brightly at Frodo as she pulled the ribbons from her hair. 

But the ribbons didn't fool anyone. Naturally, her wardrobe consisted of traditional hobbit-lass fashions, dresses with bows and bonnets for the spring months; however, her fancy was in behaving boyishly. Rosamunda her mother, often beside herself with worry, would find Essie racing home dirtier and muddier than her older brother with her curls gathered into a knot and the ribbons stuffed in her pockets. On occasion Essie was caught prancing around in Fatty's britches, big enough around the waist that the suspenders failed in keeping them on her hips. One time they slipped down to her ankles. Her mother covered her gasping mouth while her father, Odovacar, fainted at the sight. "We should've had two boys," her parents often repeated. It rivaled only to another favorite anecdote: "There's more Took in you than lass."

"Fine, you can come," Fredegar turned looking discontented. "But don't you get in our way!" He warned with a mean finger.

Content she shadowed the three lads mimicking their leaps and bounds three steps behind so as not to infringe on the clearly defined boy-space. Neither Fatty or Merry noticed her or cared, but Frodo would glance now and again keeping his eye out for her. 

Further up Hobbiton Road another bend guided them to a stretch lacing Bywater Pool. The brownish water turned bluer in the deepened middle then brown again as it shallowed through a bottleneck flow and down-streamed eastward to a creek emptying into the Brandywine River. A row of quaint smials, tidy and neat, enjoyed view of the Pool. One of the proud dwellers went so far as to build a dock that stretched mid-pool for visitors who wished to sit and hang their weary feet into the water. 

First sight of the dock someone yelled to race from the road to the end of it. The dare called from Merry's lips who was closer to the intended finish line and suspiciously led the pack at the start. Speeding with an overconfident grin he soon lost his lead as the eldest hobbit lad and so far the fastest overtook the quick starter with three strides. Frodo peered over his shoulder; Fatty already halted, bent over catching his breath either from the shroud of dust kicked up or from the sudden spring of exercise, the latter more likely. At side-glance he saw Merry frowning yet determined to avert second place, however, little did Merry realize at the time he would need to settle for third. Essie closed in and easily passed. She concentrated in securing the lead -- her fast little feet just on top of Frodo's heels. The jogging image beside him became a worrisome distraction and he hastened his arms to crank faster. Essie's pace matched Frodo's and with little effort it seemed, soon he couldn't tell who was in front of who. An unexpected weariness overcame Frodo's limbs, soon a dullness laid over the ache in his legs. The end was nearing and Essie, breathing normally, was equal to his side. His throat wore raw gasping for breaths and the pounds of his heart felt it would beat through his chest. In the next stride the winner prevailed and close to a tie it nearly was, but in the end Essie bested all three.

****

***

By the time Fatty dawdled to the dock end Merry and Frodo had their breath caught and were cooling their feet in the Pool. No one mentioned the race outcome. They all knew and Essie smiled only to herself. When Merry wasn't looking Frodo nodded to Essie in acknowledgement, half-smiled then turned away. Merry, making it very clear a lass was not welcome in their club urged the lads to sit closest together with their backs to Essie who benched herself on the opposite side. 

The forsaken distinction didn't discourage the lass. Content alone just to be around boys she blended in to the background and listened to what boys say when only boys were around. Evidently they mocked one another and others not present at no mercy, but apparently it was all in good fun. They started with Fatty's **_rounder than most_** belly and quipped at Merry's ferocious appetite, that he could swallow Fatty whole if he had the meaning to. 

A sparking gleam drew away her attention: A brilliant flicker of green dancing on a small current. Behind her, the laughs and guffaws softened to a murmur that seemed far away and faded till she heard them no longer. On closer inspection she realized the tiny treasure was an empty bottle, from the **_Green Dragon Inn _**stock of ales. Bobbing just beyond touch it tempted her delights, sparkling like an emerald. She stretched to reach it but could not; she paddled the current to drift towards her but the water refused to yield. Nothing else entered her mind save only to rescue this shining trinket and with every effort concentrating to fulfill her want commonsense left her as well. Stepping her feet on the dock edge she squat, gripped the riser post with her left hand straining her body over the water to reach. Her hand too small to wrap tightly around the riser the hold was poor at best. Progress in capturing the bottle was being made as she brushed it with the very tips of her fingers. Stretching again to grab it her stance faltered and her weight grew heavier towards the water. 

Suddenly the lunacy of her antics came to her. What had she got herself into? Or rather, what is she going to get herself into? Deep waters are no place for hobbits to find themselves, almost all have not the skill or bravery to swim. Had she another second for more pitiful remarks she would have instead yelped a cry for help. The grip in her left hand opened and she plunged forward entering the depths of the water with a splash.

Frodo paused. Merry and Fatty heard it too. The three gawked at each other then turned over their shoulders at the repeated splashings soon following the first. The memory of Essie recoiled. Their hardened eyes searched for her but she was no longer sitting on the dock and they jumped quick on their heels. Before a cry escaped him, Fatty slapped both hands over his mouth as he beheld his sister in the Pool desperately fighting to stay afloat. Her head popped below and above water, gasping in a mixture of breath and water. One last effort to save herself from her predicament, she madly flapped her arms, pushing down on the formless matter to lift her head for air. Frodo fell to his stomach, extending his arm to her as far as his balance allowed. The attempt proved futile. Her radical movements pushed her farther from the dock edge and only the top of her curls were now visible. Resolved to jump in to save her, Merry and Frodo threw off their shirts. Fredegar panicked and burst to tears.

Merry took hold of him, "If you have your mind run for help!" He said sternly then pushed him to go.

A second splash and Merry turned to see Frodo swimming. His arms paddled quickly beneath him, pushing down the water to boost his head above the waterline. Frodo closed in extending his open arms. Essie felt a hold around her and not too soon. The water painfully coursed through her. Her nasal passages felt as if she inhaled acid and the grit in the lake water choked her throat. Once again she garnered strength to escape this nightmare. Desperately she clenched Frodo's arm and pawed over him to stay afloat. His shoulders served as a sturdy platform to push down upon but still she didn't rise high enough for a good breath. Despite her efforts she continued sinking, restraining Frodo from precious breath. Her hands groped up to his head, pressuring it down with strained force. Completely submerged without a decent intake of oxygen, Frodo blew out what air he had stored and swallowed the brown waters in exchange. His nose was stinging, filling the tubes with water and draining into his throat and lungs. All his senses were mad with pain. Any struggling on his part faded into a helpless limp and he then faded to a blank. 


	5. In the Study

A/N

++This is a short little quip that originally was in the previous chapter but I took it out because it took too long to get the "pool" scenario. So I thought this chapter could stand on it's own. No worries, the conclusion to the drowning is almost at the end of the drawing board, so to speak.++

Bilbo delighted at his solitude alone in his home. To further secure his privacy he remained in his is study. Bilbo Baggins' study, a marvel unknown, a chamber of glorious secrets. Widely believed that a horde of treasure lay hidden beneath its paneled floors that often declared it was the foundations Bag End was built on. A ridiculous notion being that Bag End existed long before Bilbo collected his finds. Others prattled on about trap doors and secret passages escaping to far off points in the woodlands where hush-hush rendezvous were kept with elves. Not a soul could verify these credulous beliefs with certainty aside from self-proclaimed experts who heard from a hobbit that knew a hobbit who saw a Bilbo-looking shadow that seemed to be speaking with an odd, tall figure. However ambiguous it made for a good story telling at local taverns and market places. 

Frodo of course was the only soul to take leave into the study; for one day sooner than anybody expected, for that matter, sooner than even Frodo expected, the secrets would be his to inherit. Bilbo looked at the will now. Legally it was official to the letter, including most importantly the seven signatures in red ink. Again and again he delighted in reading the first line:

**__**

I, Bilbo son of Bungo of the Shire, being of sound mind bequeath all contents of my estate herein the address of Bag End under the Hill in Hobbiton, to my sole heir, Frodo son of Drogo.

The latter lines of mumbo-jumbo detailed miscellaneous handpicked items for special distribution to other family members and close friends. All in all Bilbo's will would prove unquestionably generous. Regardless, petty relatives will lobby relentlessly for a higher percentage of the Bag End treasure trove (as it's been referred). Let it be known the Bagginses are not the wealthiest family, but Bilbo Baggins is the wealthiest hobbit and therefore suspicion inevitable. 

But he cared not. 

Anyway, he forged more friendships in peculiar races such as Elves and Dwarves alternative to building stronger bonds with his own kinsmen. A point to argue against Bilbo's character. Among hobbits he was a popular fellow and when he entertained (which occurred infrequently) his company was eagerly sought after. Point two, he never married. A lifetime of bachelordom was not unheard of but it was odd and certainly didn't benefit public opinion. 

Enter now Frodo, the lad who came to live with him, destined to grow in the old hobbit's example… or maybe not. Too early was it to tell if he would not marry and he appeared to have quite a normal social life. But he was no stranger to Elves, Dwarves or Men, speaking their tongue, knowledgeable of their customs, and that was enough to send everyone reeling in a self-righteous fit. It should be noted the blood of the Tooks ran heartily through both Bilbo and Frodo and that bloodline is partially to blame for these very strange behaviors. The adventurous Took-gene awoke in scattered generations and for in Bilbo it landed flat on his back and screamed at his sleepy mind. As a result he traveled 'there and back again' to far off lands in the north. At his return the Shire greeted him rather unwelcomely and the rift between he and the hobbits began save for only a handful of relatives (mostly the Tooks) that **_understood_** him. Presently, the tales are known only fireside but were now being laid down by his own pen as an autobiography, accounting, in detail, the strangers he befriended as well as the riches acquired. Much like the study not another pair of eyes has seen the book except Frodo, his sole heir.

"I have much planning to do." Bilbo placed his will down, picked up pen and paper and began to scribble: "September 22nd of the next year, 1401, the Long Expected Party will come to fruition (I'll need an entire year to plan). No one hobbit in the Shire, living or dead, will have been guest to a party of this wondrous magnitude. A celebration to summit all celebrations welcoming Frodo's coming of age and my one hundredth and elevendieth birthday." With the mission scripted at the top of the page themes and ideas flowed swifter than foam on a racing river. "I must make a guest list first off… and birthday gifts to give away, unusual gifts unseen before, brought in from distant lands… oh, and fireworks, yes, to light the night sky so brightly the birds will chirp to greet the day…" 

Then he halted suddenly, like remembering a dreadful detail he ought not to forget. "Good gracious! Today is September 20th! I'd nearly forgotten our birthdays for this year!"


	6. Merry's Tale: The Rescue At Bywater Pool

Frodo's pain was suddenly alleviated. A lulling weight blanketed his body and mind. Submerged within the folds of a peaceful nothingness he lay relaxed and content. Over the surface of his skin coated a numbness like a thick, pleasant layer of wax. Existence was passing and so too were all his cares. 

Yet something stirred him and a new pain began to swell. It surged from his bowels and narrowed to his chest. The discomfort suppressed his lung chambers nearly caving them in. Just as the hurt was more than bearable the pressure thinned from his breast and moved up to the throat. The concentrated mass strained a gag reflex; at the same instance his eyes shot open, and through no will of his own his parted lips to gasp a much-needed breath. Life-giving oxygen regurgitated the pain out of his mouth, coughing up volumes of thick brown fluid. Rolling over he expelled more remnants of the Bywater Pool. 

The blackness dissipated though at this turn he rather the dark than the white brightness. Sharply the beam of light burned his newly opened eyes. He lied back down. Blinking at the shadows hovering over, the harsh light faded to a cool shade of blue relaxing his eyes. More colors fell into place utilizing his memory and vision, synchronizing their efforts as the familiar came to focus. Staring down on him was a gentle face. 

Seated at Frodo's side Merry hunched over him, cradling support to his neck. Merry's brown locks were soaked and the excess water dripped on to Frodo's face. "I had never been so frightened. Hearing you take that breath nearly took mine away," said Merry. A course of tears dribbled from his cheeks.

Frodo blinked again as the interflow of water and tears sprinkled on his face. Slowly he motioned his lips pushing words through them. Bending closer to hear Merry distinguished the feeble whisper, "**_Essie_**". Merry turned up the corners of his mouth and helped Frodo turn in Essie's direction. Only a stone's throw away, the cousins beheld the Bolger's reunion. Rosamunda wailed and sobbed to feel the warmth of her daughter's skin pressing against her own. When word of the drowning reached the **_Green Dragon_** the fear of Essie's void weighed heavily on her and hardly had she strength to move. Fatty cried the hardest wrapping his arms tightly around her and reminded in interludes to spare Essie more breathing room. The edification of his sister's worth was more apparent than ever. The sight touched Frodo and Merry in the deepest of their hearts and they struggled to hold back their joyous tears. Frodo smiled ever wider resting his head back down. 

Many hobbits arrived Poolside with heaps of blankets and towels. Merry accepted those offered, tucking layers around his cousin. "You saved more than one life today. You rescued her and saved her family from a great suffering that would not be easy to forget." Embarrassed with nothing to reply the other hobbit cast down his eyes, staring at his fingers drumming on his chest. In Merry's mind the scenario replayed again, the first splash, then others to follow; him ordering Fatty to get aid and then watching Frodo swim out to Essie. "Wait," he thought and appeared puzzled. Looking down at Frodo he said, "I didn't know you could swim."

"I didn't either until I jumped in," he weakly responded.

Merry paused. Such was Frodo's character: selfless by all means. Whether he believed it in himself or not, Frodo is compelled by a type of bravery uncommon among his kinfolk. Guided by the morally right, he tenders his stance between right and wrong, life and danger with little heed to consequence. The strongest will derives from an inner motivation not yet conceived of oneself; rather it is innate of their person driving them to act without much thought. Others know when such gifts are bestowed to an individual and boasts are never required. Merry's lower lip quivered and tears streamed down his face. Lifting carefully into his arms he took his brave cousin and embraced him. An overwhelming esteem choked Merry and his love for Frodo never seemed greater. 

****

***

At the close of a hastened feast Frodo and Merry departed Bywater's **_Green Dragon Inn_**. The crowd that gathered would have gladly carried the lads on their shoulders just as they had done previously on the trip from the Pool to the inn, but they opted a less-heroic off-going, marching out on their own two feet. Dusk waned to a crisp autumn evening by the hour they reached the Hill leading up to Bag End. 

"I've perfected the story now and ready to commit to memory," said Merry as they trekked uphill.

"Let's here your new rendering then," Frodo replied. There had been several versions of the story nearly equal to the many strides they took walking home. Merry wanted to get it just right, as he would be telling the tale of the Rescue at Bywater Pool for months to come. His cousin, more patient than most young hobbits, was obliged to serve as a testing audience.

Merry cleared his throat, the sign of the beginning, "In leapt Frodo the Brave into the murky depths of Bywater, the young lass Essie needed brought to safety. No doubt Brandybuck with Took he must be to plunge into waters unknown."

"But Baggins nonetheless!" Frodo interjected.

"Young Baggins swam fiercely," Merry snidely corrected, "paddling with the speed of many rowers. Determination willed him, the young lass would not die today! his mind was reminded. At his touch she panicked still and deadlier the mission became. Forced under was he into the dark waters of the Bywater Pool. Breath shortened for both hobbits and despair dealt a hardy blow. Death waded in the shallows near by. My silent cry was heard and answered no sooner than I called it. Of all hobbits of the Shire, Fatty produced the miracle. A coil of rope at his finding he brought to me and I dived and delivered mid-pool. For the Brandybucks are masters of the Brandywine River, sailing and swimming upon its currents. The rope-end fastened to Essie then pulled to the dry shore was she. Frodo the Brave sank deeper, a hobbit's length plus one indeed. His body I retrieved and laid on dry grass but feared death greeted him first. My face wet with water and tears I pleaded him not to go, not to leave, though his breath seemed to have already gone. My cries this time I heralded to all that could hear and no sooner than I called my answer retrieved. Frodo the Brave drew careful breath and with that he was returned from the call of death." 

Frodo halted their pace; they reached the front door of Bag End. He turned to face his young friend, "Merry, that was magnificent! My Merry, you saved me and I have not yet thanked you. What can be said equal to how incredibly grateful I am to you." He rested his hand on Merry's shoulder.

"Before you go on about all that, congratulate yourself first. Without thought for yourself you jumped into a peril you had no master of to save another--"

"--and nearly killed us both!" Frodo smirked as he reminded.

"But you didn't just stand and watch." 

For a length they fell silent. Frodo looked down and nodded then returned to Merry's gaze. "Let's go in. I'm very tired. Too tired even for more stories, yet this last one is a keeper. Tell Bilbo I've gone to rest for the night and tell him your story if you like." He opened the door, making a beeline to his room he shut his door. In the dark Merry pitifully stood under the round frame unsure of what to do next. 

A muffled voice called from behind a closed door, "Frodo? Merry? Is that you arriving?" A flickering glow stretched from beneath the study door. Merry tiptoed his way to it, holding his breath anxiously as he turned the knob and uncovered the mystery of Bilbo's infamous study. The power of four lamps brightly scattered light in the fair sized room and in the middle, seated at his large desk, was Bilbo feverishly moving his pen about. He was quite disappointed for it looked like any study in any home, wealthy with volumes of knowledge in printed books not engraved on gold plates as wildly imagined. 

The old hobbit broke his concentration at Merry's entrance, "Good gracious me, Merry, what it is?" He put down his pen. By the looks of him the young Brandybuck appeared to have been put through the washing ringer several times over and then left out to dry. "Where's Frodo?" He asked with a dash of concern.

Taking more steps in to the study, he faced directly in front of Bilbo. He commenced his story of the Rescue at Bywater Pool with the usual throat clearing. Bilbo was enraptured, he seemed to have held his breath at the most suitable peaks in the story. At length's end Bilbo rewound to what he was not sure he heard correctly. "Hold a moment, did you say **_swam_**? When did Frodo learn to swim?"

"Right when he jumped in the water," he said as a matter of fact. Merry then continued their part at the inn while Bilbo nodded in countenance with his fingers cupping his chin. "When we got to the **_Green Dragon_** a crowd of hobbits cheered his bravery and they fed us shovels of food and barrels of drink. They even offered to ride us home, but Frodo and I were filled to the brim, we thought walking is better to faster up the digestion. 

Bilbo sighed in relief and smiled. "I am plenty grateful for **_your_** bravery, Merry," Bilbo met the Brandybuck eye to eye. "You are a dear friend to Frodo, a friend I know he will cherish till the end of his days, and so will I. The Brandybucks are a fine lot, of that I am sure. And bless their knowledge of the water and how to swim it. Now I will go to see our lad." 

Bilbo exited his study, forgetting Merry was left behind, marched out to discover his home was pitch as midnight. "Oh my," he said in the darkness. Feeling around to the closest lamp he kindled its wick with nearby matches. Equipped with a light source to guide him, he flamed each lamp till Bag End shone in a warm blaze. In the kitchen he set water for tea and reached in the pantry for a couple of Frodo's favorite snacks. The kettle whistled. Together he set a tray of cups and a short loaf of bread matched with supply of honey butter. He called, "Merry, will you put on the fire?" 

"Certainly," Merry swiftly responded. Merry emerged from the study avoiding any glance his uncle may cast. As he packed the hearth to set a flame Bilbo hurriedly passed him, tray in hand, to the passageway leading to Frodo's room. Turning the corner away from Merry, Bilbo called again, "Be a good lad and shut the door to my study, will you please."


	7. The Ring and the Book

Thanks to y'all reading and providing me feedback. It's much appreciated! Jen: In answer to your question, I didn't even think Frodo's stage in drowning could be serious. Well, just chalk it up to dramatic vs. reality inconsistency. = I 

Bilbo forgot his birthday. 

Business with his will and drawing up plans for next year's grandiose exit preoccupied his thoughts and it simply slipped away from him until two days prior. Parties commemorating Bilbo and Frodo's birth were the capstone event of the Shire but not so this year. Small was this affair, a deviation from years past and an understatement to the extravagance the Bagginses were known for far and wide. Aside from the Brandybucks, other quaint families were given invitations to the intimate dinner and gladly accepted on the spot as the request for reply required. Other relations not issued an invite took deep offense. Especially those dwelling close in proximity. In justifying his restricted guest list, Bilbo imputed his own lack of regard and truthfully admitted he just plain forgot. Whether they accepted his excuses he cared very little, he would have delighted better to offer no explanation at all. 

But the Shire hobbits need not be disappointment two years in a row. Next year's party, The Long Expected Party, as he referred it, would live up to it's presumptuous name. Bilbo was in works to execute an event unlike any attended before, and it would be one they'd certainly not desire to attend again. He craved nothing less than to see his relatives throw back their heads and gasp in shock while discreetly covering up their prudish little mouths. At work penning his dastardly and fantastic ideas as he thought them not a word of it he uttered to any hobbit, but when asked prevaricated instead he was jotting notes for his Book. He confided in only the folks hobbits regarded little and trusted least, the elves and dwarves. Several meetings transpired in the outlying woods, passing letters for delivery to old friends whose addresses existed far outside the Shire's Messenger Postal Service. Frodo, too, was left in the dark.

The designs for next years' party frequently detracted him events occurring in the present time. Arriving late and suffering from fits of forgetfulness were predicaments Bilbo fell into more commonly these days. So explains the frantic household making haste to assemble this night's birthday dinner. Frodo gladly took the chore to tidy the home while Saradoc and Merry went to town with a shopping list in hand. No one knows what Bilbo set out to do, he was up and out before the others awoke.

Saradoc and his son traveled to the marketplace immediately after breakfast to accomplish the shopping and conclude by having lunch in town. Preparations, as stated before, were in haste and so much had yet to be done that cooking a meal with several dishes did not adhere to their time schedule. That in mind, the list contained all _soft_ items (a term hobbits used to describe choice foods as ready-to-eat). In the butchery Saradoc sampled and picked the tastiest cured meats while explaining to Merry, who was eager to eat as will as learn, the two kinds of curing, drying and brining. Both settled on the briny meat agreeing it's taste superior. Wines, ales and cheeses were then purchased. Some soft bread loaves and at the last, a large birthday cake. All items, carefully packed, fit in a small hand wagon Merry pulled along.

Merry and Saradoc lunched inside the **_Stallion's Haven_**, a favorite haunt of Saradoc's. The buzz of celebrity huddled around Merry as they entered. The Brandybuck's, a prominent family in the far regions of Buckland, held little prestige in Hobbiton and were inequitably labeled reckless. "Over their heads in non-hobbit doings, they are," Hobbitons routinely commented of their skill for boating and swimming. But as word traveled from Bywater to Hobbiton of Merry and Frodo's heroism to save young Essie Bolger, their suspicions dispelled a little. Tight crowds of admirers and eager listeners cheered as The Rescue At Bywater Pool was told from Merry's lips. Just as Bilbo foretold, Saradoc was beaming, pride delighted his face as he sat back into the audience. As Merry neared his favorite line, "for the Brandybucks are masters of the Brandywine River, sailing and swimming upon its currents" he raised his fist in roose, and the club saluted their mugs cheering and nodding in approval of the boast. 

The luncheon at the **_Stallion's Haven_** delayed the Brandybucks for much longer than expected. Saradoc recalling the time pulled Merry from the spotlight and reminded him of their commitments, "I could hear your story more often than you could tell it in your lifetime, Merry. Even if you never took a single breath through it. But we mustn't forget what we are to accomplish today."

"Nonsense! Stay the whole night if it please 'ee" said Sandyman the miller upon eavesdropping their conversation, " 'sides yet, we've a bit of business to talk, you and I, Master Brandybuck."

Half-remembering Saradoc acknowledged him. The miller's opinions of the Brandybucks weren't favorable and he was opened to telling so. Prior meetings with the miller were far from amiable. Saradoc expected this one to be no different. From his breast pocket he pulled an envelope and handed it to Merry. "Deliver this to the Post Office, then take the wagon to Bag End straight-away. Tell Frodo I ought not to take long," he said finally, eyeing the miller. 

Doing as told, Merry exited the tavern, wheeled the cart behind him and headed down the square to the Post Office. Leaving the wagon outside, he chatted only a minute with the post worker to drop Bilbo's letter. But easily is a hobbit distracted with food: the office offered quince to all its patrons. The proprietor, Pedo Clearwater, hosted a vast orchard of quince. These recent years his successful yields overflowed in supply and mid-through season's close he gave them away. Upon heaRing it was the Baggins' birthdays Merry was urged to take with him the entire bowl to the party. Merry politely accepted.

All the Brandybuck chores in Hobbiton were completed and Merry was only a little behind schedule. Descending out of the township he saw Bilbo walking ahead seemingly in his usual hurry. Further ahead he glimpsed the Sackville-Baggins turning the road bend but not yet aware Bilbo was heading towards them. As Lobelia and Lotho drew closer Bilbo slowed to nearly a standstill. Then, just before halting, Bilbo vanished. 

Merry staggered at the wizardry before his eyes. The quince apple he snacked on fell and rolled on the dirt with his jaw as it, too, dropped to the ground. Regaining himself and curious to see what happens next, he pulled the wagon of goods behind the hedges that lined the north-side road and hid. peering through the hedge while quietly quick-stepping to where Bilbo disappeared, he watched the S-B's pass, unbeknownst of the magic that had befooled them. After walking over the rise completely out of sight, Bilbo reappeared tucking a gold piece of jewelry in his pocket. Merry gasped but covered his mouth quickly. Quite pleased with himself Bilbo guilefully chuckled. No hint of a spy was suspected and on home he continued. Merry watched, his hands still over his mouth, until he felt certain it was safe to re-emerge on to the road.

****

***

It was several minutes before Merry gathered his things and marched to Bag End. He thought hard and concluded the source of magic centered from the mysterious Ring. He had seen this gold Ring looped through a chain dangling from Bilbo's pocket once before. Remembering now, the old hobbit nagged at it, checking his pockets often to assure himself it hadn't gone. Curious not only of the Ring's power but where it came from, he began reaching back to old memories to recall any clue about this mysterious favor. But he didn't have to remember too far back, just two days ago incidentally, when he was left alone in Bilbo's study. 

As the old hobbit walked out of the study, Merry sneaked to the large desk where his Book sat open. Across the expanse of a large page, Thror's map was recreated in Bilbo's penmanship. Arrows dictated points and people of interest such as Girion Lord of Dale, Great Mirkwood, the Elvenking and Long Lake. With the tips of his fingers he graced the page edges, hesitating to turn them, fearful of getting caught. Holding his breath and make not a sound, he lent an ear to Bilbo's doings, continuing only after hearing the old hobbit fumbling in the dark to kindle his lamps. Ever so gently, he turned the page and went back in time. It was Bilbo sixty years younger, living quite normally and expected as hobbit lives were fashioned. Then came to his round door was a peculiar fellow of the Big Folk, it seemed, clad in gray robes, capped with a pointed hat and armed with a grand walking stick. Merry stopped, it was no Man being described here but a great wizard. He muttered softly, **_Gandalf_**. Before reading any further, he froze at the holler of his own name and hurriedly answered the protective author upon entering the parlor. 

His memory ended at the front step of Bag End. He looked at the front doorway imagining Gandalf staring at the same green door sixty years back. Merry could only guess if Bilbo knew he was snooping about, for he never mentioned it. Perhaps Bilbo said nothing because he trusted the young Brandybuck (at least Merry was inclined to believe he did) with the secrets not yet ready for public exposition. He wondered specifically about the Ring and if Frodo had knowledge of it's magical properties. The rare glimpse of the Ring and Book did not make its way into conversation any time soon and he committed to investigate both items even further. But he had no luck in learning more despite stealthy guises. He filed the knowledge and for years spoke not a word of it to anyone.


	8. Frodo Gets The Girl

All intended guests were prompt, a standard requirement though Bilbo rarely adhered to it himself. The commencement of the Gold Hand Toast* was just underway and proper formation began to assemble itself. A favorite tradition of Bilbo's he reserved it especially for smaller parties as the ceremony would run hours if the guest list were long. And never did he engage this tradition with the Sackville-Bagginses; the custom required kudos and compliments of which neither, in his opinion, the S-B's deserved. Bilbo remained obstinate in saying what he meant to hobbits he didn't favor and avoided saying niceties out of courtesy. 

The wines were poured and the Gold Handing began. Forming a semi-circle, the guests faced the host who stood in front of the hearth. The secondary host, usually the mistress of the household, in this case the secondary celebrant, Frodo, was called to the host's right-hand side. The older Baggins raised his left-handed wineglass first. Traditionally following, guests lifted the wine with their right hand in succeeding order cascading like a row of dominos. First were Merry then Saradoc, then the Gamgee's, the Boffin's and the Bolger's. Essie Bolger, youngest in her family, was the anchor in the half circle and last to follow suit. Next, Frodo joined their raised glasses, however, in his left hand, and in unison the party engaged the "first try" or the first sip.

The second degree of the Gold Hand Toast ordained the host to address each family or family member, offering a nod of his glass, some pleasantries and genteel wishes. His most grateful speech he prepared for Merry, dedicating more words in his toast to him than he did to any one family. No one argued for truly a great merit he had achieved during The Rescue At Bywater Pool and to which Bilbo credited the young Brandybuck, "For without his courage the occasion tonight would be different indeed." At the conclusion of _Guest Toasting_ the "second try" they then took together.

Thirdly, beginning with the most honored guest, Merry, they proceeded with _Host Toasting_. More of the praise was given to Frodo, who blushed at the attention, for his selfless act of bravery in saving the life of Essie Bolger. The older Baggins was cited for his generosity and captioned for his youthful appearance at the old age of one hundred ten. To conclude, tradition dictates the highest-ranking guest offered the last toast, usually some abbreviated well wishing. As candidate to the office of the Master of Buckland, Saradoc held high his glass and said, "Long life and many birthday parties to come for Bilbo and Frodo Baggins!" The others cheered in unison and drained the "last try" of their wine, thus the end of the ritual, the beginning of the dinner party.

A favorite custom of all hobbits was the distribution of birthday gifts from celebrants to their guests. Very dear families were elected to the guest list and as Frodo and Bilbo handed out the presents each were told in private reverence. They were small gifts, tokens really, but due to the Baggins' accord, appreciated in greater deference to their size. However, order and decorum were unlikely practices to any hobbit dinner party and no other formalized custom followed after the toast and gift-giving. The call for supper sounded instructing everyone to take seats at the well-dressed dinner table. Generous portions of wine and ale were poured. The Gold Hand Toast advantages guests to consume a full glass of wine before dinner begins and extends the opportunity to drink more as the evening lengthened. And as more wine flowed the reservations of even the most conservative fell lax. By the time birthday cake was being passed around the elders had each consumed well over their share of libation that they were unable to operate a spoon.

But the boys, Frodo, Merry, Fatty, Sam and Folco Boffin, plus Essie departed the watchful eyes of their parents long before the cake cutting. They huddled in the back garden around a small fire pit close to keep warm under the crisp moonlight grumbling amongst themselves. Despite their parents' inebriated state, often as they tried, none of the young hobbits could successfully smuggle out a drop of ale or wine. The elders accounted for each alcoholic beverage and confiscated bottles from their tweenager's thieving hands, discoursing one glass at the toast was their allotted quota. 

When all seemed at despair, Frodo broke the silence and withdrew his wooden pipe and pouch. "Would either of you care for some Longbottom Leaf?" asked Frodo knowing the question needn't be asked. 

"Yes, may I?" the youngest Bolger held out her hand.

The lads were flabbergasted by Essie's request. "I've not seen a lass light a pipe. It's not proper practice." Folco protested. He was quite annoyed.

"I have just right as you do," she said defiantly snatching the pipe from Frodo's hands. She proceeded to masterfully kindle the leaf with tinder and puff smoke with ease. More amazed than insulted the lads stared in silence. 

Seeing as she had their attention, she began to spout knowledge of the sacred herb, "It was in the family of Hornblowers that pipe-weed came to be," she said taking little notice to disbelieving gawks. 

"Ah, a lass knows no better on such matters." Folco remained indignant and unimpressed. Little did he know many years down the line this fact would gain heavy consideration by a great author of pipe-weed lore. "Pass that along, it's not yours to finish. You shouldn't have a puff at it in the first place." He extended his hand to receive it from her. Instead she exhaled a cloud of smoke he had to wave away for a good breath of air. The boys snickered as Folco silently fumed.

As the evening waxed the tweens sat in the secrecy of darkness passing around the pipe till leaf and conversation ran out. The air chilled them as the warmth from smoking and the fire faded. Nothing more was left to do and they retreated to Bag End. Before opening the back door to the smial, Frodo reminded them, "Not a word about the pipe-weed to anyone. It is to the discretion of your fathers at what age you are to begin smoking." They typically responded in irresponsible fashion, "Yes, yes… right… of course, we know, we know." 

Upon entering they discovered many of the elders had retired to the spare bedrooms. Bilbo alone was left in the parlor extinguishing the lamps. "Ah, there you are," he said to them as they appeared, "we wondered for a second where you'd gone to. Then the next second we resumed our drink!" Loudly he laughed. Clearly he was drunk. "Sam, my lad, your folks walked home not a minute ago. You'd best follow and be quick! The Gaffer barely made it through the door without the aid of his wife, bless her. She's not all too well to walk herself." Sam waved and hurriedly excused himself. "Folco, you can find your parents in their room down the hall behind you."

"Bilbo!" A distant plea called from another hallway. 

"Yes, Rosamunda?" He answered.

"My bedroom door won't open," she said hopelessly. The whine in her voice hinted to the volumes of wine she consumed.

"Give it a good push, my dear. That one tends to stick." 

"I---" she started but laughed. "I fear Odovacar stumbled, fell asleep and is blocking the door. I hear him snoring." More laughter ensued.

Somewhat irked, Bilbo shook his head. "Come now, Fatty, Essie, let's intercept your parents from any further embarrassment."

Frodo reclined on to the fireside couch and Merry plopped next to him. The flames waved slightly, the fuel mostly burned off; it would not last for much longer. "Happy birthday, dear old Frodo. I'm glad you were here to celebrate it."

"Thanks to you Merry, I am here." Frodo replied affectionately.

Merry smiled back. "I can't keep my eyes open another second so I must leave." Sitting up to retire to his room he sang, "_Where is rest for my weary head? I'm off to bed! I'm off to bed!_"

But Frodo stayed put. Involved in the fading of the fire and too comfortable in his present seat, he grabbed the quilts from the adjacent armchair and folded himself between them. The day was long and fatigue was settling, but he did not give leave for sleep to overcome him. In a quiet reverie he stared, humming softly to himself and reflecting on these past days strange events. One year from this date his adulthood would begin and he wondered what paths lay ahead of him. He thought of his parents and of Bilbo and what expectations he needed to achieve to meet their satisfaction. Memories of his mother and father were fondly recalled: their hikes to fringes of the Old Forest, the moonlit night walks in the wood and boating on the Brandywine. Since birth Frodo grew to crave adventure, fortified by the romps he accompanied with his parents and from Bilbo's stories he wished to play part in. His soul ignited in him the desire to travel distantly and discover places heard or read only in story, but this tiny spark lay buried beneath his love of the Shire's boundaries, yet the light never extinguished and so at times he ached.

"Frodo? Is that you?" Someone whispered. 

"Essie?" He replied. "What is it? Is something the matter?" 

"I cannot sleep. I found a book in the guest room and came out here to read it," Essie replied. 

"Then let me light a lamp for you." Frodo said peeling himself from the couch. She could not tell in the dark that he was grinning. 

"You were about to sleep. I can read this in the morning. I don't want to trouble you." She said quickly.

"It's no bother. Sleep wasn't coming easy for me either," he justified kindling a nearby lamp. Looking up into the warmly lit room he saw Essie standing in front of him shivering in her nightdress. "You're quivering like a leaf!" In a rush of concern he tended her one of the quilts, wrapping her tightly. "I'll fetch more wood for a new fire."

"No, please don't. The blanket is warming quickly and soon I won't need it." Though she enjoyed the attention, she feared to be a bother. There was an awkward pause and both cast their eyes to the floor. Essie took her place in the armchair next to the lamp and directly attention to her book. She wanted Frodo to stay and chat with her but instead her mouth said other words, "Will the light disturb you? I don't want to keep you from retiring." 

"I, I can go to my room," he said with troubled effort. "Goodnight, Essie." 

As the door shut to his bedroom Essie slapped both hands over her face and mentally cursed herself for a long length. "Why didn't you ask him to stay, you tomfool donkey!" she cursed aloud remembering a name the Gaffer yelled out to Sam once before. The click of a door emerged from the hallway followed by nearing footsteps. Essie quickly reassembled herself with her nose in her book as if she'd been reading all along.

It was Frodo. "I'd nearly forgotten this," he interrupted in a meek tone. Essie looked up pretending to be slightly perturbed. "I wanted to give this to you." Frodo walked to her and placed a polished green bottle in Essie's hand. The meager lamplight danced on its bevels showing off its emerald hues. "It's the same one you saw in the Bywater Pool. There's heaps of them all over Bywater and Hobbiton but I figured you must've really wanted this one to jump in water you don't know how to swim in." 

Essie giggled and stared lovingly at her most thoughtful present standing up to be close to him. She brought up her bright eyes and asked with the truth of her heart, "Is that the same reason you jumped in after me?"

This was the second time in one night the young lass stunned him. Again he repeated her question in his mind and raced through a field of emotions he was suddenly aware of. Recognizing his feelings brought him confidence and she could now see it in his face. Her gaze he did not break nor did he interrupt their silence. Gently he took the book and bottle from her and set them aside, then held both her hands between his, drawing her closer he kissed her.

*The Gold Hand Toast spawned from a dinner party hosted by Balbo Baggins, grandfather to Bilbo, when he premiered his first wineyard. His guests gathered round and as he raised his glass to them he said, "I could not sufficiently toast such a fine group of hobbits even if my hands were made of gold." 


End file.
